


The Convention - Last Dance (Day 18: Dancing)

by drownedinblissfulconfusion (tundraeternal)



Series: The Convention [18]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Conventions, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tundraeternal/pseuds/drownedinblissfulconfusion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30-Day OTP Challenge</p><p>A succession of Cockles fics & ficlets, set at a fictional convention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Convention - Last Dance (Day 18: Dancing)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I do not personally know any of the people I'm writing about. As far as I'm concerned, these are fictional characters in some alternate universe, which exists someplace between our own and the French Drop universe, who happen to bear superficial resemblance to our boys (and girls). Their conversations, personalities, and innermost thoughts are generally extrapolated from plausible reality, occasionally made up from whole cloth.

The con guests have been cleared out of the ballroom. The hotel staff have cleaned up the detritus of the party, empty glasses and cocktail napkins and two women in a corner who were so busy kissing they hadn’t noticed the party was over. The chairs have been stacked and the tables folded. 

Jensen and Jared and Misha and a bottle of whiskey are all occupying the last table standing. It’s been a while since the three of them have had a chance to just hang out and catch up. So when the cleaning crew asked if they were about done, they turned the full force of two sets of puppy-dog eyes and one winning smile on the poor people, and got permission to sit up as long as they want. 

Boys’ night is almost at an end, though. Jared just flew in this morning, and the strain of travel and a full day of work is starting to show in the slump of his shoulders. 

“I’m hitting the hay, guys,” he yawns and unfolds himself from his chair. “Y’all don’t keep each other up all night, okay?” With a waggle of eyebrows, he’s off, soles clicking on the hardwood of the dance floor. 

As soon as the door has clicked behind him, Jensen slides his chair a little closer to Misha’s. Misha drops his head onto Jensen’s shoulder, and they twine their fingers together, hands resting on Misha’s knee. Jensen rubs his cheek against Misha’s hair. He could suggest they go up to bed, but he’s happy and lazy and comfortable here. No reason to move quite yet. Soft strains of music filter in from the kitchen where the catering staff is still clanking the occasional dishes; Jensen hums along under his breath. 

Misha seems fascinated by their joined hands. He lifts them up and studies the way their fingers lock together. With his free hand, he traces across Jensen’s knuckles, running light lines down the tendons in the back of his hand and back up again. 

“Hey Mish?” Jensen whispers into his hair. “You wanna dance?”

Misha lifts his head and looks up, half a smile on his face. “You are one corny son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know. You love it. Come on.” He stands and pulls Misha along with him. 

The radio starts [a slow, sweet song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-cbOl96RFM) as they move to the middle of the room. Hands still entwined, they mold their bodies together and begin to sway to the gentle swing of the music. 

“Last time I danced like this was at my wedding,” Jensen reflects. 

“Like what, with a man in an empty room?”

“Smartass.”

Misha leans up for a kiss, smooth and sultry like the music. His tongue slides easily against Jensen’s, unhurried, not demanding enough that they lose the rhythm of their dance. It’s good to take their time, enjoying each other’s company and each other’s bodies. 

They stay that way, kissing and dancing, through the song, and then through another, and another. They scarcely notice when the music fades as the radio is switched off. 

When the lights go out, however, it draws their attention. Jensen swears and Misha starts to laugh. 

“Hey, I guess no one even knows we’re here anymore.” Misha comments, voice heavy with suggestion. “Wanna get naked? Bend me over the table and make me scream?” 

The rush of blood southwards leaves Jensen unable to think of words for a moment, but eventually he’s able to think over his incipient erection. “I think it’s time for bed.” 

It’s hilarious that Jensen can almost hear Misha’s pout. “Alright, if you want to be mundane about it. Your bed or mine?”

“Oh, definitely mine.”


End file.
